The Sharpness of Knives
by Angelic Thrall
Summary: Rated R for slightly mature language and brief, mild hints of sex. Amsterdam thinks about his relationship with Johnny and Bill (Slash warning)


**The Sharpness of Knives**  
  
_Introduction:_ A Gangs of New York SLASH fanfic. Yes, Slash. The POV is, of course, from Amsterdam ... AmsterdamxJohnny, AmsterdamxBill. Deal with it. Oh, and written for National Slash Day, July 1st.  
  
  
His accent was never as thick as mine was, but both of ours alone couldn't add up to the rawness of Bill's voice. Bill had a tone about him that made you instantly look at the floor, rather then look at him. You'd walk into a pen of wild dogs before catching his eye the wrong way.  
  
Johnny was always doing things wrong with Bill. He showed his vulnerability and childishness too often, an open target for one of his newly sharpened knives. The trick was, you didn't let him know he got to you. You glanced away before he had a chance to even look at you, and you looked back when he started to talk. A carefully measured game of cat and mouse, as was everything in New York back then.  
  
I don't understand why he never chose to do anything to me, not until the very end. Though part of me believes he knew from the beginning, who wouldn't have guessed? Johnny new instantly, it seemed. The Priest's son. As if it were written all over my face, his dead body starring out from my eyes, and my need for vengeance etched onto my skin, a left out mark that would never heal.  
  
It didn't matter though, in the end. It wasn't as if we were ever called by our names much anyway. Bill tilted us boy from the beginning, but, of course, it was Johnny who always was looked upon without the slightest bit of respect. When dealing with the Butcher though, no one had an inch of respect save himself, so why would he bother with giving some to two thieves?  
  
Both of them were unexpected though. Bill striked quick and hard, without a moment's hesitation, while John thought it over before actually caring out the job. It was easier just to do it quickly, rather then hesitate. While John remained rigid, like most New Yorkers then, with his hair longer in different random pieces and clothes always covered in dirt, hair slicked with oil, Bill had an almost ... respectful air of cleanliness about him. An elegance which came from ruling over people and gaining respect, as well as money and power.  
  
Being with John was like being a kid again, when nothing really mattered, and you didn't have to worry about anything. A memory of a dream. You didn't have to worry about being careful or cruel or being powerful. It didn't matter. It was a blowjob in the back of an alley, forgetting you were pressed against a Church side and it was the nuns singing in the background.  
  
A glimpse of America.  
  
Bill had a sarcasm that made you grin and chuckle beneath your breath, but rarely laugh out loud. He spoke with a wisdom that came from seeing too many deaths, and causing more then half of them. His rambling was never looked upon as rambling, but as a moment to listen and take what you could for information. When he bothered to teach you, you paid attention and never backed out of the chance. He ignored your mistakes the more he liked you, hence the reason I lasted as long as I did, and the reason John didn't.  
  
While John, with his youth and often smiling face, made you smile yourself... Bill made your skin crawl with a simple glance. The kind of shudder that made you think of darker things, things sharper and more painful then any of his life killing stabs.  
  
But there's a bit of pleasure in some pain.  
  
There was never any contest when it came to sleeping with them. I did not judge one over the other, nor did I claim that one was better. You can't call darkness better then light, they're too different to be compared.  
  
Unsurprisingly, I was always the one to take, rather then be taken, when it came to John. Even the first time ... it had been my move, my demanding, and his fumbling, nervous but wanting reply. Women are not supposed to come between friends, but then, I suppose I was the one who came between the woman and John. Jenny meant little to me, but every man wants someone. And the one I wanted, I couldn't have. I had no intentions of hurting Johnny though...  
  
So seeing him upset was enough to make me scowl on the inside, and crave on the outside. His sadness spreads across him like a wildfire, gleaming in his eyes, dancing through his skin. Making everything seem horrible. And while it's always better to have him happy, then upset, he seems more human when he realizes the world is not a play pen and fantasy dream.  
  
Sometimes I wonder what makes him think like he does. Had it been me, I would have shoved him away at the first touch. But my fingers closed around his shoulder, a friendly squeeze, and our eyes met. And then their was softness, fingers hastening only slightly to undo clothing, lips locked together in a frantic, yet somehow warm kiss.  
  
It was over in less then in an hour, and sleep came swiftly.  
  
I never kissed Bill, and I was never the one to control him. Kissing seemed something affectionate, rather then a burning hunger, which was what we both felt. There was no need to stay afterwards, no need to hold each other. We weren't like that; he wasn't like that. We were skin on skin, fingers in each other's hairs, bite marks on shoulders and dark bruises where I tried to tame something I couldn't even touch.  
  
Raw cries and frantic movements, friction of heated bodies and bitterness. The affection came later, and even then, it was almost a fatherly sort of thing. It was his eyes watching me, testing me from his position across the dirt covered street. His comments on my fighting ... his obvious greater skill dangling above me, taunting me.  
  
I would have been a fool to try and match him. I've always been a fool.  
  
You don't play with knives, and expect to walk away without a few cuts.  



End file.
